


What's in a Name?

by Bleve



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:54:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2756915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bleve/pseuds/Bleve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A/N - OK, so absolutely no one should be surprised that I've been bitten by the Dragon Age: Inquisition bug. Did I mention that I clearly have a thing for Grey Wardens (and apparently quasi-Grey Wardens)? There's a definite pattern here.</p>
<p>Also, I would swear that Taylor Swift's "This Love" was written for this pairing. Maybe, TayTay is a closet Dragon Age fan? Take a listen!</p>
<p>Disclaimer: I, in no way shape or form, own Dragon Age or its characters. All belong to Bioware.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N - OK, so absolutely no one should be surprised that I've been bitten by the Dragon Age: Inquisition bug. Did I mention that I clearly have a thing for Grey Wardens (and apparently quasi-Grey Wardens)? There's a definite pattern here.
> 
> Also, I would swear that Taylor Swift's "This Love" was written for this pairing. Maybe, TayTay is a closet Dragon Age fan? Take a listen!
> 
> Disclaimer: I, in no way shape or form, own Dragon Age or its characters. All belong to Bioware.

_Dread. That was what she recognized in him, written in bold strokes on his features and the nervous twitch of his fingers. A menacing Grey Warden, muscular and capable, yet Blackwall was staring at the beast in the stable pen like it was the next archdemon, and she had to repress the giggle that threatened to bubble out._

_"That monster cannot be safely ridden. Wouldn't you prefer one of the horses?"_

_She shook her head, "No. My dracolisk is far more suited for the sands of the coast. Besides, riding a horse is too benign for me...I like a challenge. Just don't tell Dennet I admitted that. He may just quit the Inquisition all together."_

_He looked unconvinced, so she reached out to comfort him, brushing her hand against his forearm. Her words were quiet, meant to soothe, "Trust me, please?"_

_He sighed, nodding, and she had to restrain from skipping over to the animal. She led her steed out of the stall by its bridle, and climbed easily into the familiar saddle. The smile crept onto her face effortlessly, and he begrudgingly returned one of his own. He muttered, "This is madness…"_

_Laughter, careless and free, finally let loose, "Of all the crazy things that we have faced and will face on this journey...you take issue with a dracolisk?"_

_She reached a hand down, beckoning, and he took it, placing a reluctant foot in the stirrup while delicately swinging his broad frame behind her. He settled in, and she tried her hardest to contain both herself and the animal. Sharing a saddle with a man she desired was almost too much temptation, especially when that same man had turned her down. But, she was nothing if not tenacious, so when Blackwall suggested riding together, she couldn't resist the offer, even when her clearer mind told her that she should._

_His hands settled on her hips, and her fingers tightened around the reins as his voice came over her shoulder, so close to her ear. "I'm not sure we'll survive this trip to the ruin, but at least I will_ enjoy _it."_

_Blackwall was an honorable man, and a horrible flirt, which made his refusal all the more excitingly bothersome, in a good way. He knew exactly the effect all this physicality was having on her, and from where she was sitting, he clearly wasn't immune, either. Turnabout was fair play, and she squirmed against him, just enough to get comfortable. A tiny groan escaped him, and he tried and failed to pass it off as a cough. Smirking at the reaction, she offered, "We both will. Now, hold on..."  
_

Footsteps interrupted her morose, pitiful chasing of happier memories, and she turned her gaze away from the stable below, back inside through the doorway which led to her suite. The dwarf was standing there, and she crossed the balcony to enter, coming to greet him, "Varric...to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Just thought I'd check in on you..."

Pity company was the last thing she wanted, so she rattled off a response hoping it would be convincing enough. "I'm fine."

His eyes glanced over her as he moved to take a seat in one of the chairs at her desk. "You don't look fine."

Sighing, she shook her head, as apparently he wasn't going to take the hint easily. She moved over to the desk, taking a seat across from him as she shrugged, "Really? Maybe we should have one of the healers check your eyesight."

He chuckled, "The easiest way to piss off any archer worth his salt is to question his eyes. I'd be offended, Inquisitor, if I wasn't totally positive that your desire was to do just that."

He leveled a gaze at her, and she knew she was found out. "You're not fine, Evelyn. I've seen that blank expression of betrayal before, and I'm worried for you."

She had a snappy retort all ready, until his voice cracked out of concern, and suddenly, all the fire went out of her. "It's not been an easy few days."

He nodded, and she continued, "So, have you come to tell me about the stupid mistake I've made? How I've risked the Inquisition's success over one lying scum of a man because I took him to my bed?"

The dwarf's eyebrows puckered together, a look of question on his features, "What jackass did that?"

"Vivienne."

His disbelieving laugh almost brought her to chuckle. "Well, I always thought she was a bit of a frosty bitch, so I can't say I'm totally shocked."

"True. But, I'm sure she's not alone in her thoughts, it's just that she's the only one ballsy enough to voice them."

He shrugged his shoulders, "I'm not here to judge your decisions. You're the Inquisitor, and the one who has to try and navigate this entire wretched mess. Your mistake, if you want to call it that, was finding love in the midst of it all. But, I've been a friend to someone in a similar situation, so I thought I might be a sympathetic ear, if you'd like."

Taking a deep breath, she tried to release the knot that sat painfully in her chest, and found that nearly impossible. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to vent, as she knew that holding it in wasn't doing her any favors. Besides, in this case, her curiosity was going to get the better of her. "Hawke?" she questioned.

He nodded, a glimmer appearing in his eyes that she recognized as fondness, "Who else could it be? Both of you really know how to pick winners in the men department."

Resisting the urge to throw a book at him, she grumbled, "If this is your idea of being helpful, I'll pass."

He put his hands up in mock surrender, "Sorry, sorry. I'll try to stop with the teasing. But, my joke doesn't make the comparison any less valid. Two powerful women, fierce and determined to save people from great danger, both in love with men who made terrible, life-altering mistakes..."

That tidbit of knowledge, unfortunately accurate and previously unthought, caused her to squirm. "Were you here to make me feel better? Because that idea surely doesn't."

He looked slightly confused, so she explained further. "Let me put it this way. When I first heard of the debacle that was Kirkwall, I didn't have the highest opinion of Hawke's...choices."

"Ah…" he nodded. "The alliance with the mages or the fact that she let Anders live?"

"Both. But especially the latter..." her head hung in deference, voice raw with pain, "I called her a traitor and a murderer. I argued that she was as guilty as Anders himself, because she let the man go."

"Well...you were hardly the only person who thought that way."

She looked at him, eyes brimming with unshed tears, "No...but I wager I'm the only one that is now facing the same terrible fate."

"Evelyn…"

The floodgates broke, and she couldn't restrain the deluge of emotions, the knot finally unraveling and recoiling like a snake as she yelled, "I am a hypocrite, Varric! The worst kind, a spectator who sat on the outside looking in, while criticizing a woman who, at the minimum, was trying to keep a city from destroying itself. And now, the Maker has seen it fit to teach me a valuable lesson in how easily you can become the one that you have condemned."

A blur, her desk became a watery swirl as she allowed herself the most basic of releases, a moment of weakness that the Inquisitor shouldn't have, but desperately needed. Eyes down, she couldn't bring herself to look at her friend, but a sensation of warmth found her, and she leaned into it. A strong shoulder, broad chest, and she buried her face against him, the smell of wood oil prevalent. For a few moments, she lost herself in the comfort, his dwarven frame providing the perfect height for her to rest her head while seated. Eventually, she quieted, and he took the chance at humor. "So the mighty Inquisitor is actually human…"

She pulled away, shaking her head, "I'm surprised you let me anywhere near your shooting shoulder."

They laughed, and he offered, "Feeling better?"

"A little…"

"For what it's worth, there is not a single damn person in this entire fortress who envies your position. All of us were taken by Blackwall's lies, but only one of us had her heart broken in the process."

"I just hope that I've made the right decision by bringing him back to Skyhold to face judgement. I just couldn't see him hang in Val Royeaux…"

Varric nodded, and she pushed on, "But, can I easily throw him in a cell to rot for the rest of his pathetic days? I have no idea what I am going to do, Varric. The only thing I know, that I can promise and swear to the Maker, is that I cannot take the sword to his neck myself. I simply cannot."

"There is a worse fate, the same one that Hawke bestowed upon Anders. Pardon him, and it will be a punishment worse than death. He's carried this lie close to his chest for years. Let him carry it now, in the light, where every man can decide. Why should the burden of judging him fall solely to you?"

"I am the Inquisitor. I must judge him."

"Then let him suffer, Evelyn, where everyone can see. I'm not Hawke, so I cannot tell you why she made the choice that she did. But, what I can tell you is that she believed death was an easy out for Anders. That idiot not only started a war, but he destroyed their relationship and the trust between them. If she had killed him, Anders would never have had to deal with the consequences, would have never seen the disaster he brought about. He would never know the pain, the absolute anguish that he caused the woman he supposedly adored."

"I envy her, Varric, that she could be so strong to deal with all of that. If I had known this was coming, I would have begged more of her counsel. I asked her a few questions about Anders when she was here, before Adamant. But, you know them both. Do you think she made the right decision?"

"I think she made the choice she had to live with. Just like you will."

She tried to keep her voice steady, more emotions threatening to burst forth, "Even if I pardon him, Blackwall is resigned to his death, ready to give Orlais the justice it seeks. I took that from him, and if he lives, he will hate me for it."

"Then let him hate you. I witnessed Anders practically dare Hawke to end his life, and somehow, that ass is still breathing. So, be glad that at least Blackwall had the common decency to get someone else to do it."

She shook her head, "But, I cannot force him to live, Varric. If I free him, he could just as easily end it himself."

"I can't tell you what to do, Evelyn. But, it doesn't matter if Orlais, or you, or Blackwall himself, takes his life, it will not bring back the countless that have been lost due to his greed and cowardice. Let him live. Let his guilt consume him while he makes whatever attempt he can at reparations. Don't carry your lover's death on your conscience."

"I'm hardly a saint, Varric. But if I pardon him, I share his crimes."

"If you care for him half as much as I think you do, that will not matter to you. Just like it did not matter to Hawke. Tell me, if the roles were reversed, do you think that Blackwall would watch you hang in the gallows of Val Royeaux?"

Instantly, the word passed her lips, "Never."

"So, how can he really hate you for interfering? He may be angry, but he can blame himself. He left you, without any explanation. I understand that he had good reasons for doing so, but he was a fool for thinking that you would accept it, that somehow, you would not look for him."

The sound of someone coming up the stairs interrupted her, and a guard came into view. "Sorry, to disturb you, Your Worship. The prisoner from Val Royeaux has arrived."

"Thank you, Dendrick. I'll send word when I am ready to have him brought to the throne room."

The guard left them, and her friend spoke, "Well...you'd probably like some time alone to think. Just know that whatever decision you come to, I'll support you...and I'd guess that almost everyone in Skyhold will...frigid bitches aside."

"Thank you, Varric, for everything."

He nodded, while crossing her room, "I'll see you at the trial."

She watched him disappear down the steps, and her ears barely caught the murmured words, as he exited, "So that I can punch the bastard myself."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - So, this chapter was written because I felt there was something missing after the trial scene, namely a private moment between the Inquisitor and Blackwall, where things were hashed out more between them. Their conversation in the jail scene was a great start, but the trial and the Inquisitor's subsequent forgiveness seemed rushed, and then, after all of that, nothing else? Well, not for my Inquisitor. She was pissed, and rightfully so, and she deserved her chance to vent, even if that eventually led to Blackwall's forgiveness. So, since I didn't get my fill in the game, this is the result.
> 
> Disclaimer: I, in no way shape or form, own Dragon Age or its characters. All belong to Bioware.

Red. Fury and disgust propelled her determined steps toward the stable. It had taken her some time to finish the string of duties that needed to be dealt with by the Inquisitor, and now that those were complete, Evelyn could do something for herself. In the rays of sunlight that filtered through the airy structure, she glimpsed the outline of his familiar frame, the brawny arms and chestnut beard; even a swollen lip, the recent addition courtesy of one pissed-off dwarf. Unsure, nerves animated his features as he paced near the fire pit, and he looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but back within the walls of Skyhold.

Pausing, she ducked behind the stall, content to observe him while he seemingly stewed. His obvious unease gave her some small comfort, as she was tired of being the only one disturbed by all that had passed. The trial had to have been one of the most disturbing experiences of her life, and her role in it had left her bitter and resentful. Prior to her ruling, she had made peace with her decision to allow him to make amends, and she was well aware of the risk that her choice could potentially damage the standing of the Inquisition. Blackwall, even in his deceit, had been a faithful servant of the effort, and deserved whatever assistance the Inquisition could offer. She had expected his anger at the interference, and had even hoped for his grudging acceptance of atonement.

But, she had been blindsided by his rather open admission that he still cared for her—not so much the sentiment, but the fact that he chose to declare it from the dais of an at-capacity throne room. The man had never been one for public displays; in fact, Blackwall had even frowned upon tent-sharing in camp, concerned with rumor and appearances. Yet, for some reason he decided in that moment to rebel, wearing his emotions on his sleeve for all to see. He even had the nerve to approach her for a kiss, and she had awkwardly shared a chaste moment with him, his hands still bound in shackles. His bizarre antics had forced their intimacy, and she could not refuse, especially not after risking the Inquisition's reputation to save him. Snubbing Blackwall could have easily been seen as wavering, and after making an unpopular decision, she could not afford to be seen as indecisive. Their entire exchange had sat false in Evelyn's stomach, and never before in her life had she ever felt so conflicted. Love, disgust, concern, rage, and loathing had warred within her, all struggling to win control, and the battle was far from over.

Inhaling, she slid out of her hiding spot and turned the corner, striding forward into the stable. Piercing eyes, always searching, like a hawk's—they found her instantly, and he stood—years of roaming the woods having sharpened his reflexes. She opened her mouth to greet him, and hesitated, unsure of how even to refer to the unresolved riddle standing before her. Before she could make sense of her conundrum, he spoke, "Inquisitor."

Her ineptitude made her all the angrier, and she honed her rage into a sharp tongue. "How shall I refer to you? Rainier or Blackwall?"

"I've gotten used to 'Blackwall.' Perhaps we could treat it as less of a name and more of a title. Almost like 'Inquisitor.' Reminds me of what I ought to be."

She did not care for the comparison, or its unspoken implication. She grilled him relentlessly, holding back nothing, and belittling him as much and as often as possible regarding the Grey Wardens, especially the calling he never heard. His responses were polite, carefully crafted, and tremendously unsatisfactory. When she had her fill, she offered, "One more loose end to wrap up, before I head to the Emerald Graves."

Some distance from both Blackwall and Skyhold was just what she needed. She reached into a pocket, extracting the warden badge, and dropped the emblem into his unsuspecting hand, "Here."

"This doesn't belong…"

"To you?" She finished his sentence and shook her head, chuckling ruefully, "I know, but it's even less mine. Part of me is sad to be rid of a kindred spirit; after all, both of us were left lying in the hay."

She had seen Blackwall take many hits in battle from all sorts of weapons, but she had never seen him look so wounded as he did in that moment. "One more thing to be sorry for…" he sighed, almost a whisper.

His admission angered her further, and new torment erupted within her. Her response was visceral, immediate, "Do you regret that we slept together? Or that you snuck away like a coward?"

"Both. I know it is hard to believe, but I did everything with you in mind."

"I'm sure," her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Scurrying away while I dozed in your bed was clearly for my benefit. I definitely would have been terribly upset to wake and find us naked together."

He sighed loudly, and she suspected he was nearing his breaking point. He grumbled through gritted teeth, "If I did not know any better, my Lady, I'd think that you were still cross with me…"

"Good thing then, that the Inquisition relies on your sword, and not your wit. Of course I'm still angry, Blackwall. With you and with everything you did."

"You pardoned me at the trial," he offered defensively.

"No. The Inquisitor forgave you, because she could not watch you hang. But, you know me deeper, further than just the piece of myself that I give to this cause. Evelyn Trevelyan still has an axe to grind with you, and I could hardly speak freely in the court. Now I can."

For a moment he actually looked penitent, before the stalwart Blackwall returned, his eyes narrowing, "Then do so."

"Explain to me why you left that night."

"I had to go! I could not let Orlais punish another innocent man."

She pushed for the truth. "That part I understand. But, why did you…"

His eyes widened as he realized her intent. "You think I seduced you intentionally that night? I struggled with succumbing to that all along. I warned you repeatedly that I didn't deserve you."

"None of that stopped you."

"Nor you. Both men and women have needs, especially when one spends too much time alone in the woods. How long exactly should I have refused you?"

"One more night, if you knew you were leaving on the morrow. But once again, only one of us had the whole story. If you had no intention of staying, why finally give in?"

He shook his head, "Things just got out of hand. You wanted to leave the Herald's Rest, and that meant that we would end up in the stable alone. I tried again to stop us and you told me..."

Their eyes met, and he parroted her words, "'You don't know tomorrow any better than I do. One moment at a time.'"

Syllables became daggers that punctured her heart, as she heard the echo thrown back at her without remorse, and he didn't relent, "Truer words I had never heard. I set aside my guilt and what my trip to Orlais would mean, and focused in that moment on you, and you alone. I should have had the strength to resist, should have been more honorable, but we all know what kind of man I really am, don't we, Evelyn?"

Tears blurred her vision, but she refused to let them free. "You may wish that night never happened, but I wanted you then, or rather, who I thought you were. I wanted to be with you, to give you what comfort I could. I knew you were troubled, but I had no idea how deeply or why."

Shame, she read it on his face, and he turned away from her but she wouldn't let him. "Oh no...you will look at me, Blackwall."

She grabbed his face, turning his chin up, and she found watery brown irises staring back. "You know what disgusts me the most? You could have just told me the truth."

"And you would have accepted it?"

"I don't know, but at least you would have given me the chance to try. I never gave you any reason to doubt me. In fact, from the moment we met, I have done everything in my power to help you and the causes that were dear to you. And how did you repay me? By lying to my face about who you were, and when your lacking conscience finally caught up to you, I heard your confession in front of a damn audience while you stood on a gallows! I deserved to know, Blackwall, before everyone else."

"If you had been less curious, you would have never found out. I tried to spare you the pain…"

She screamed, "Then spare me now! Do you think me an idiot or an ostrich? That I would bury my head in the sand and just let you disappear? As the Inquisitor, I was concerned for my ally, and as a woman, I was spurned by my lover. You know me well enough to know that I was eventually going to discover your secret one way or the other. There was nowhere in Thedas that you could have gone; I would have hunted your craven ass down."

"I did many things wrong. But, I cannot change any of it, and I thought I had earned your forgiveness."

"No, I spared your life so that you cannot use death to escape again, coward. When a man becomes a Warden, his previous life is forfeit, both good and bad. Since you never took the oath, you missed the opportunity to have your slate wiped clean. Now, you have it and you should use it to earn forgiveness, as the man you really are."

"And your pardon?"

It was easier to be enraged when she focused on the other people he had hurt. Hesitating, she managed, "I have no idea. I would like to hope it's possible, but right now I...I still hurt, Blackwall. I couldn't bring myself to refuse you in the throne room, but I would have preferred to punch you rather than kiss you."

He laughed then, a deep belly rumble, "I was surprised you didn't. I thought that I might be pushing my luck too far."

He stood there, grinning like a loon, and she couldn't understand why. She huffed, "I just told you that I wanted to hit you earlier, and you're smirking? If you keep it up, I may just do it now, and knock that stupid look right off your face."

"Fury is an enemy that can be overcome, Evelyn, but indifference is something else entirely. You still feel something for me, even if it's contempt. That gives me hope, and a reason to smile."

Despite it all, she could feel her body responding to him, lips curving upward slightly. "Hope is a dangerous thing, and premature. I do not know if I can get past this, or how. I thought that pardoning you would help, but it has not."

"Maybe getting past it is the problem, Evelyn. If you're not ready, then I can wait, as long as I need to. I thought what we had was dead the night I left for Val Royeaux. Any chance, no matter how small, I will take."

She nodded, "I don't know that you have any chance, but maybe time and distance will grant me more certainty."

For a moment he looked pained, but he quickly recovered. "I won't be joining you on your trip...will I?"

"No. I think that some separation will do us both good."

"Are you sure? You'll need a warrior…"

He had been her right hand, the one she had turned to most often during her travels for counsel and companionship. But, that would not be any longer, and her voice was like steel, leaving no room for argument. "Cassandra or Iron Bull will accompany me."

Hesitant and broken, she could hear the strain in his voice, "Then, be safe, Evelyn. I will hope to see you when you return, if you wish."

He seemed so utterly crushed, but she would not lose her resolve. "Goodbye, Blackwall."

This time, it was her turn to flee from the stable.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - This chapter was inspired by Kelly Clarkson and John Legend's version of the song "Run Run Run." It's beautifully compelling, and perfect for this pairing, imho.
> 
> Disclaimer - Bioware owns any and all things Dragon Age. They own me and my wallet, too, but that's a whole other story.

Exhilarating and exhausting. If somewhere down the road a curious person asked her what it was like to be the leader of the Inquisition, that is what she would respond with. She wouldn't bother with stories about saving the Empress of Orlais from an assassination attempt, or fighting High Dragons within an inch of her life. No tales of drunken bar exploits or fearsome battles with possessed templars would leave her lips. Those moments were fleeting, and her fatigue was anything but. Evelyn Trevelyan would simply respond with, "exhilarating and exhausting", and leave it at that—it summed it all up so perfectly.

Six glorious consecutive hours of shut-eye, what any human needed to function properly, but she would probably sooner see darkspawn ballroom dancing. After narrowly escaping Corypheus and claiming the Well of Sorrows, the magister was down but not out, so she would have to be content with short and scattered moments of downtime. Some part of her knew, and she didn't need whispering well voices to tell her, that he was coming for her. Preparations were underway, but she wasn't sure it would be enough. Hell, with decades to make ready, it probably still wouldn't be enough.

Never before had she had so much power at her disposal; between the Anchor, the Inquisition, and a dragon, she should feel practically invincible. She should be ready to challenge Corypheus, facing him and her own death if necessary, to stop his world-ending plans of domination. At Haven, she had confronted her enemy without reservation, but now, there was something holding her back, something she needed to resolve before the final push.

A few precious days at most—that was all that stood between her and the moment where the fate of Thedas would be decided. She would make the most of them, after she took a few minutes for the necessary—a wash, a change of clothes, and if lucky, a quick catnap. She was halfway through the throne room when the ambassador's call reached her ears, "Inquisitor!"

So much for that plan. Hopefully, the one they devised against Corypheus would have better results. She halted, suppressing the urge to sigh as she waited for the woman to approach. "Yes, Josephine?"

Always the consummate diplomat, she gestured politely for her to continue onward, so they walked together, until the door swung shut behind them. The passageway between the throne room and her personal quarters was very large, more a room than a hallway, but it was in terrible shape. Few people needed to use it, however, so its repairs could wait. The Antivan beauty turned to face her, stopping to speak, "I'm sorry to bother you, Inquisitor, but I wanted to speak with you in private, away from the other advisors."

That piqued her curiosity, and for the moment, her annoyance faded. "No apology needed. What is it?"

"Blackwall. He came to me the other day, asking if he was entitled to any compensation from his work with the Inquisition. The request itself is not uncommon, so normally I wouldn't trouble you with it, but given the circumstances..."

"What did you tell him?"

"Well, technically, he has earned a percentage based on his travel with the party. The odd thing is that I tried before to have this very discussion with him, back when he joined the Inquisition. He told me then that he wanted nothing, except shelter and food, that Grey Wardens do not take money to do their duty."

"Much has changed since then."

"I know," the dark-haired woman admitted, "Which is why I needed your counsel. When he refused to accept his share of the earnings, I decided to set the money aside, and my plan was to eventually donate it to the Wardens for their cause. At the time, I thought that was wise, but now...it's a sizeable amount, your worship, and I don't feel that he deserves it."

She nodded in understanding—now that Blackwall's cover was blown, he wanted the gold he had spurned under false pretenses. It bothered her too, but the money was his, fair and square. "His dishonesty does not negate the blood and sweat that he has shed while working for the Inquisition. He has earned his due."

"When you put it that way, I guess I agree. But, when I asked him why he had changed his mind, he would not tell me. So, I told him that before I could give him anything, I would have to get your clearance. He claimed that he was going to speak with you anyway."

She was sure that conversation was going to go really well. They had not exchanged so much as a passing greeting since their impasse after his trial. "Thank you, Josie. I'll get to the bottom of it, and then I'll let you know how to handle it."

Her advisor left back out the door to the throne room, and she spun on her heel, trudging up the stairs to her bedchamber. One more thing to add to her seemingly neverending chore list. Weeks of separation from her former lover, somehow they had flown by with one emergency after the next demanding her attention. Keeping him at a distance had given her valuable insight and enough clarity to realize many things about her relationship, but most importantly, she now knew that forgiveness was possible—incredibly hard, but possible.

She could only hope that he had used the time just as constructively. She had deliberately left him to stew, selecting others in his place on excursions, out of equal parts punishment and concern for his mental well-being. He needed the time to do some heavy thinking, alone and without distraction.

Her sigh finally escaped her now that she was alone, and acceptance reared its ugly head as she admitted that sleep would have to wait a little longer. Guilt, tiny but there, blossomed and sat heavy on her stomach. He had not accompanied her to the elven ruin, and no one could have followed her into the Morrigan's Eluvian, so she had no clue if he was even aware of all that had transpired. It was time for them to settle whatever they could.

A compromise formed in her mind: since her nap was out, she would find something clean to wear, and then head to the stables. Climbing the last of the steps, no sooner than her foot contacted the floor of her bedroom, his voice filled her ears, "You're back…"

Melodious, the timbre and pitch of his Free Marches accent had always lured her in like a siren's song as her eyes found him pacing nervously across her chamber. Emotions raged within her, and she couldn't bring herself to speak, afraid that she could just crumble all too easily; exhaustion, adrenaline, and lust combining to make her a tumultuous wreck.

"And you're still in one piece, no worse for wear," he smiled, approaching her but stopping at a safe distance. His scent, mint mixed with leather and straw, filled her nostrils, and she found herself fighting the urge to take deeper breaths.

He mistook her silence for anger, stumbling over his words, "I'll leave you now. I am sorry that I intruded here, but I had to know if you were okay...I heard about what happened in the Arbor Wilds, and I just had to see you."

Trembling, it was all too much, she just needed him to stay, they had been apart long enough. "Don't go."

He moved closer, hand reaching forward, voice full of concern, "Inquisitor...are you all right?"

She stepped toward him, moving into his personal space, the unspoken consent hovering between them. "Yes…no…not really."

His gloved fingers ghosted along her forearm, and instinctively she relaxed—her body was his even if her mind argued otherwise. He offered, "You're exhausted and you need to rest."

Her eyes trailed along the floor to her bed, and when she glanced back at him, the nervous bob of his Adam's apple told her that he may have his own ideas. She couldn't help the tiny grin that formed on her lips, "I am, but there are things even more important than sleep. I was actually on my way to find you."

Hesitant, his hand dropped away from her, and she could easily feel the anxiety his body was broadcasting. She cut to the chase out of mercy, "Josephine came to me about your request."

He nodded, "The past few weeks have been excruciatingly hard for me, but also very eye-opening. I've spent a lot of the time thinking about what I can do to begin to atone for the mistakes I made."

A hopeful guess came to her lips, "The money..."

"...is for the families of the men who died, both in the ambush on Callier and at the noose for my treason. I would like the ambassador's help in dispersing and delivering the funds."

"Why?"

"I'm afraid that they may not accept money from me, but I believe they will take it from the Inquisition. Gold will not bring back the fathers, brothers, and sons lost because of my failings, but it should at least bring them some physical comforts. It's a start, even if a meager one."

Relief flooded through her at his explanation. She probably would have released the money no matter what reasoning he gave her, but it did make her feel better to know that it was going to a good cause, one that he had come to under his own choosing. "I'll talk to Josephine. I'm sure she will be more than willing to assist in whatever way she can."

"Thank you, Inquisitor."

"No thanks are needed. You've earned every bit, to spend as you desire, and I think it's a good beginning."

"I've also spoken with several of my former soldiers, well, the ones who would meet with me, at least."

"How'd that go?"

"I doubt any of them would call me a friend, but I believe they were glad to have the opportunity to curse and threaten me to my face. A couple were less confrontational, but they still made it clear they despised me."

"And Mornay?"

"Hates my guts, but he was grateful that I came forward to stop his execution. He told me that he could not speak for anyone else, but that for what it was worth, he forgave me for the problems I caused him."

She smiled encouragingly, "It took many years for all of this to come to light, and it will take much longer for it all to be put to rest, Thom."

The rarely-used name came surprisingly effortlessly to her lips, after swimming through her mind for weeks. His eyebrow quirked up, "Why..."

She cut him off. "It is your birth name. The one your mother kissed into your hair as a babe, and it is what your friends called you before greed's ruin. Have I not earned that same familiarity?"

"Blackwall is my preference."

"And in public, I choose to indulge you. But here, alone, I will not. You cannot continue to run from who and what you are, and your birth name will serve as a reminder of all that you have done, and of all that you still need to do. Yet, progress is progress, no matter how small, and the biggest tasks start with a step in the right direction. You've taken the first of many, Thom."

"Then, I will continue walking the path until the job is finished. In my darkest hours alone, wandering across Ferelden, I would often dream of a life where I managed to make amends, but I always discounted those fantasies as impossible, until now. I will never give up on this."

"I'm glad to hear it. But, the proof is and will be in your actions, not your words."

He dared a small smile, "I agree. But, how can I show _you_ if I am never around?"

Trapped by her own mouth, she begrudgingly admitted to herself as he continued, "I hurt you, maybe the worst of all, but you requested your space, and I have respected that and will continue to do so, if you wish."

"Thom…" she started.

He fell to his knees, "Please Evelyn...allow me to fight again at your side. I know that you will face Corypheus soon, and I fear that you will go to battle without me. The not knowing of these past few weeks, the wondering if you were injured or worse—it was a nightmare, one that I deserved to suffer through every minute of. Grant me mercy, and permit me to share your fate...whatever that may be. Let me prove to be an asset to you, bleed for you, die for you if I must; and while I breathe, I will work to earn your trust and forgiveness. You are the reason I long to be a better person; you've shown me that I can do more than just live in the shadow of a good man. These things I swear to you I will do, no matter what comes."

"Get up."

The look of accepted defeat on his face was the final straw that snapped her resolve's back. He rose slowly to his feet, and the absolute anguish she saw on his features gave her confidence that she had made the right decision. "I want to look you in the eye when I say this, Thom Rainier."

Bent, but not broken. Damaged but determined, and that is exactly what she needed to see. He was never going to give up, and he kept her gaze no matter how much it exposed him. "Consider yourself back on missions."

His eyes widened in surprise, and he let out a giddy whoop that made her chuckle. His hands grabbed her shoulders, shaking her slightly in excitement. "Thank you! You won't regret it, I promise!"

His genuine joy was contagious, and she laughed, the first levity she had felt in quite some time. A slight stumble, the result of fatigue and dizziness, and she steadied herself against his solid chest, the quilted fabric and metal studs still a familiar sensation. Raw hunger, she saw it in his chestnut irises, instant and unabashed. The chuckle died in her throat as he murmured, "I'm terrified to press my luck...to ask anymore in this moment."

Hands traveled down her biceps, along her flank, coming to rest on her hips, and she caved, leaning in further against him. Her fingers crawled along his collarbone, intertwining on the nape of his neck, and she felt his meet at the small of her back. Slowly, painfully so, they came together in an embrace—she clung to him, and he to her, as they weathered the storm of emotions that threatened to drown them. Eventually, she dared to speak, admitting her fears, "I'm terrified to love you...and you always press your luck."

He leaned his forehead against hers, their lips just a finger's width apart, his beard tickling her chin. Rough, his voice dropped an octave, "I know, and you have every reason to be. I deserve nothing but your contempt, but if you give me _that_ chance again, Evelyn, I will make it my duty every day to please you, to make you breathless and satisfied in every way that I can. What I feel for you, it is love, and devotion and reverence and so much more. I am so immensely sorry for what I did, for the pain that I caused you..."

A tear, then another, and she wiped them from his cheeks. "I forgive you, Thom. I loved the man I thought I knew, but now, I know the man I thought to love. I want to try..."

Offering proof, her lips gently collided into his, tentative and hungry. Soft, exploratory kisses quickly led to dueling manic tongues, and he slid the hem of her jacket up, the leather of his gloves cool on her skin. Those stupid things had to go. She grabbed his left hand in hers, pulling at the material to try and rid his hand of the offensive thing. Quickly, he curled his fingers and broke away, smiling, "Is something wrong my dear?"

He knew damn well what was wrong, she hated those wretched gloves. He was always wearing them—she would swear to the Maker that he even slept in them. So, they had always been in her way, an unnecessary barrier between them, especially when she had desired nothing more than his skin against hers. It was a form of torture, sensory deprivation, plain and simple, and he reveled in teasing her with it. She should have never let on how much it irritated her, but that cat was long out of the bag.

"I'm too slow," she grumbled, and his laughter forced a small smile out of her. Nimble fingers undid the clasps of her jacket, and a chill bit at her exposed flesh. His gloved hands danced across her torso, caressing in all the right areas, but it wasn't enough and the bastard knew it. But, two could play such deliciously evil games, and it was her turn. Gliding her fingers down, along the quilt pattern and below his belt buckle, she found an opportune spot to apply a little pressure. "If the gloves stay on, then so do your pants."

She laughed as he ripped them from his hands, like they were made of lava instead of leather. He smirked, "So what happens when the gloves come off?"

"You're about to find out…"


End file.
